A/N: Left 4 Dead and all associated characters belong to Valve.

"Power and glory... right, kiddo?"

Two men sat on the cement floor of a large, abandoned warehouse; both sat slumped against one of the bleak, gray walls, each sporting a collection of various bruises and bleeding scratches. Thick, gossamer smoke flowed freely from a lit cigarette and swirled around the pair before dissipating into the night air. The younger of the two – a man in his mid-twenties, suit pressed and brown hair slicked back meticulously – offered a gruff laugh in response to the other's question and shrugged.

"I learned everything from you."

The eldest – a man in his thirties, dressed in an everyday business suit – scoffed incredulously and shook his head, "Bullshit." The man's voice carried a thick, Boston accent, "That's bullshit and you know it."

"Right." A similar accent was present in the younger man's voice, but the cadence was not nearly as noticeable, "Why can't you just own up to the fact that you're a fucking hypocrite?"

"I'm a fucking hypocrite?"

"Yes." The twenty-six year old stubbed the cigarette out on the cold floor, "You taught me everything I know, but I'm wrong because I don't do things exactly the way you want me to; because I don't work for the guys you want me to work for."

The older man glared at him for a moment, disbelief and hurt flashing across his features for the briefest of moments, "Jesus, Nicholas, I didn't realize you were-"

"Don't fucking call me that, Sal."

"Oh, right, I'm sorry – what bullshit name are you going by now-a-days? Oliver? Tyler? Danny?" He demanded, "I don't even know who you are anymore."

"Yeah, well, that's probably for the best." The younger man replied quietly.

Sal tore his gaze away from the other man and focused on a random spot on the floor, "I may be a hypocrite, yeah, but I sure as hell ain't disloyal." He turned and gave the younger man an accusing glare, "I would never betray my family, especially not my own br-"

"I'm not betraying you!" Nick replied angrily, "I'm doing my job. I told you, it-"

"Fuck that!" The older man interrupted loudly, "Look at where we are! Look at what you're doing!" He gestured towards the 9mm pistol in the twenty-six year old's hand, "And tell me this isn't fucking betrayal."

Nick sighed heavily and stood up, "Goddammit, Sal." He began to pace the small confines of the area, "I told you, it doesn't have to be like this. I can protect you. You just have to let me.."

"I'm not a coward. I don't run from my problems, Nick; I knew this was coming." Sal pushed himself to his feet and took a few steps towards the younger man, "I always knew your loyalty was spotty, at best... but I never thought I'd see the day you'd do this to me." He paused and shook his head solemnly, "Shit like this... It's why dad was never proud of you."

The younger man visibly tensed – words obviously stinging – and scowled, "Dad was never proud of me, Sal, because I'm not you." He took a step forward, "I could never live up to anything you did."

Sal let flow an obnoxious guffaw, "Is that what this is about? Jesus Christ."

"This is about business." Nick stated firmly, "Nothing more." He gritted his teeth and raised his hand in a frustrated gesture, "Quit being so stubborn. I'm offering to put my ass on the line for you. I got a place that you can go." He looked down at the older man and gave him a look that was almost pleading, "Please don't make me do this, Sal."

"There's only one decision to be made here, kid." Sal said firmly with a sad smile, "You gotta decide what's more important to you..." He hesitated for a moment, "Family..." His gaze fell to the pistol still clutched between the younger man's fingers, "Orbusiness, money... greed." Nick looked away, unwilling to meet his brother's harsh glare, "Guys like us, Nick, we don't go to heaven. We go to hell." The twenty-six year old rolled his eyes dramatically, "You realize that, right? I chose the life I've lived. I deserve it, and I'm ready to face it, but you..." He sighed, his voice shaky, "It's not too late for you. Don't do this. You can still walk away." He craned his neck in an attempt to meet his brother's gaze, "We can still walk away. Together. But I ain't leavin' this place without you."

The silence settled over the two brothers and stretched across the entire warehouse. Nick kept his gaze glued to the 9mm in his hand, contemplating his brother's speech while Sal observed, watching for any sign of a reaction from his younger brother. Finally, the twenty-six year old looked up, his green eyes dark and solemn.

"I love you, Sal."

The older man closed his eyes, the weight of his brother's words hitting him as the realization dawned on him, "I love you, too, little brother."

Nick stepped back, his right arm shaking slightly as it rose, "I always kinda figured I'd be going to hell. Used to scare the shit out of me." He paused to quietly clear his throat, "But you know, I guess it can't be so bad if you're there, too." He clenched his jaw tightly as tears threatened to spill from his eyes, "I'm sorry."

BLAM.

The shot rang out, acoustics in the warehouse providing a much louder echo than what had been expected. The pistol clattered to the floor by the younger man's feet and Sal's lifeless body followed soon after with a dull thud. Nick swallowed harshly and knelt down, watery gaze sweeping over the older man's corpse and eventually falling on the smoking bullet hole right between his eyes; eyes that were still open. Haunted by his brother's blank stare, Nick reached out and gently pushed his eyelids closed. He sat back, dazed, and watched the crimson liquid pool on the cement as Sal's words reverberated through his mind. After several moments, the younger man reached out and took his brother's right hand in his own.

Warm tears finally broke free and rolled down his cheeks, "I'm sorry, Sal." He repeated as he reached out, gently slipping one of the gold rings off of a lifeless finger and placing it on his own, "If you're really in hell, well..." He paused as he pulled himself to his feet, collecting his pistol from the warehouse floor in the process, "I'll meet you there."

"Nick?"

Eight years later, that young man – by that time, not so young, of course – stood in front of that very same warehouse. His hair was slicked back in the same way that he'd always styled it, and he wore an incredibly expensive three piece, black suit – sans the tie – with matching dress shoes made of Italian Leather. His age was slightly evident on his face; slight stubble had taken up a permanent residence there, as did several worry lines and wrinkles. He hadn't even realized he was loitering in front of the building; in fact, he couldn't even remember stopping on his way in. The cigarette between his middle and index finger had long since burnt out, and a smoldering tower of ashes still rested atop the orange filter, threatening to spill over with any sudden movement. He tossed it away with mild disappointment and struggled to tear his gaze away from the bleak structure before him.

"Nick!"

There was that voice again, albeit much more insistent the second time. The man finally turned to face it's owner, who was staring at him with a look that was equal parts confusion and annoyance. Nick cleared his throat and narrowed his eyes slightly as he looked expectantly at his associate.

"Yeah?"

The man pursed his lips and offered a pointed look, "You've been standin' out here for a while. We got that asshole Marsden inside."

"What – I can't fucking stand here for five goddamn minutes?" Nick snapped and pulled a fresh cigarette, along with a silver Zippo lighter, from his jacket pocket, "I don't give a fuck if that piece of shit waits for a few."

"Yeah? Well, I give a fuck that I have to wait while you're out here jerkin' off."

Nick smirked and took a drag from his cigarette, "Shut the fuck up, Dale. It's not like you've got shit to do." He took a moment to fully examine the man's appearance for the first time and sneered, "Do you realize how ridiculous you look? What the fuck are you wearing?"

Dale gestured to the dark blue material and shrugged, "It's a track suit, jackass. It's comfortable."

Nick flicked the cigarette to the ground, "It's repulsive." He chuckled lightly at the man's angered expression and clapped him on the shoulder, "Oh, by the way, people usually wear track suits when they exercise, which is another activity you might want to consider picking up."

"Fuckin' smart ass." Dale muttered quietly as he nodded towards the warehouse, "Can we just do this, already? I'm hungry."

Nick laughed and playfully smacked the man across the back of the head as they made their way inside the dingy building. The large, open room was dark as the pair entered, the only light flickering from a small light bulb hanging from the cracked ceiling. In the center of the room was a chair, and on the chair sat a man; he was tied up, arms fastened behind his back while his legs were secured to the chair itself. He was slumped over, nearly unconscious, and blood flowed freely from his nose and cracked lips. Upon seeing the man's injuries, Nick pursed his lips and turned to a large man – clad in a pair of gray slacks, a wrinkled, black dress shirt, and a pair of black loafers – standing behind the chair.

"Vinnie." He stated calmly, and the man looked up from picking at his fingernails, "The fuck did I say?"

"Sorry, boss." The man shrugged, "I got bored, and this fucker was running his mouth." Vinnie kicked the back of the chair for emphasis, "What's it matter, anyway? It's not like-"

"Shut up." Nick demanded, and the man acquiesced, "Get outta here."

"Where am I supposed to go?" He asked, his voice a dull whine.

"I don't know, nor do I care. Go wait in the car or something."

Vinnie fixed a laughing Dale with a harsh glare as he reluctantly trudged outside. Nick shook his head in exasperation and sighed as he began the process of removing his suit jacket. He took his time, slowly unfastening each button and draping the garment across a nearby table. He picked at the buttons on the arms of his dress shirt and slowly rolled the sleeves up to the middle of each forearm. He then removed three of the four rings from his various digits, leaving only a single golden band on the ring finger of his right hand. The wounded man sitting in the chair followed the suited man's movements nervously as the agonizing silence filled the air around them. Finally, Nick turned to face the man with a grin, taking deliberate steps as he approached him.

"Jimmy Marsden." He mused with a laugh, "It's been too long."

The younger man looked up from under hooded lids and offered a dry laugh, "Too long, indeed." He coughed violently, spitting a glob of blood onto the concrete floor, "Luca Brasi over there really did a number on me. Never really thought that was your style."

"It's not." Nick replied firmly, "Vinnie is an idiot." He paused and slowly removed a .45 caliber M1911 pistol from a holster at his belt, "You should know by now the way I like to do things." Nick offered a sadistic smile and pointed the pistol in the man's direction, "Now, we both know well enough why you're here, so what do you say we skip all of the bullshit and get right down to business?"

Slowly, he moved his right arm up and down, stopping occasionally to focus the barrel of the weapon on various parts of the man's body. He pointed the gun at Jimmy's right knee and squeezed the trigger tightly. The bullet tore through the man's knee cap, producing an explosion of blood, flesh, and muscle. Jimmy cried out in pain and squirmed within the confines of the rope.

"You fucker." He hissed angrily.

Nick smirked in response, "Does it hurt as bad as they say it does?" To the right, Dale let flow an obnoxious chuckle.

"Fuck you." Jimmy replied through gritted teeth.

The suited man offered a sarcastic frown and stepped forward, "Ah, Jimmy." He paused for a moment and clicked his tongue, "We could have had a wonderful partnership, you and I." He raised the pistol again and, without hesitation, fired at the man's other knee, "But sadly, you've made that impossible."

Jimmy laughed and shook his head, "I'd rather die-" He drew in a shaky breath, "-than work for a scumbag like you."

Nick grinned and clapped the man on the shoulder, "I'm glad we're on the same page."

"You're going straight to hell, you know that?" The wounded man snapped.

Guys like us, Nick...

Nick's expression hardened and he straightened his posture dramatically, "So I've been told." He sighed deeply and gestured to the semi-automatic pistol in his hand, "Honestly... Just between us girls," He gave a sardonic wink, "I don't wanna kill you, Jimmy. I really don't." He leaned forward, eyes darkening, "But if I don't, it sends the message that stealing from me will be tolerated," He stood up straight and raised the .45, "And it most certainly will not..."

Jimmy eyed the pistol with mild apprehension and looked up to meet the man's gaze, "Don't you wanna hear my last words?"

Nick stepped forward, a malicious smirk pulling across his features, "I just did."

The thirty-four year old squeezed the trigger, and a final gunshot erupted and reverberated throughout the warehouse. Blood, brains, and skull splattered across the wall behind Jimmy and spilled onto the concrete floor below. Nick eyed the man's lifeless body as it slumped forward, still within the tight confines of the rope. Dale gave a grunt of disgust and turned to face the suited man, who had since holstered the .45 and was working the sleeves of his shirt back down his forearm. Footsteps echoed from the entrance of the building and quickly approached the pair.

"Goddammit!" Vinnie shouted, "I missed it!"

Nick smirked and rolled his eyes, "Don't feel too bad, Vinnie." He shared a knowing glance with Dale as he shrugged the suit jacket back onto his shoulders and fingered the jewelry that normally adorned his fingers, "We've saved you the pleasure of getting rid of the body."

"By myself?" The man asked incredulously, "Aw, come on, Boss, can I at least-"

Suddenly, Vinnie's spiel was interrupted as a heavy fist connected with his chin. He stumbled back onto his ass, thoroughly shocked, and grasped at the inflicted area desperately. Nick stepped forward and knelt down so he was looming over the man.

"Next time I tell you not to do something, you better not fucking do it. Understand?" Still dazed, the man nodded weakly and drew in a shaky breath, "Fuck if I let you make me look like a fool. This is a business, Vinnie, and unprofessional behavior will not be tolerated."

The man held out his hands in agreement, "You're right, Boss. I apologize."

The older man pursed his lips and offered a satisfied nod as he stood and helped Vinnie to his feet, "Good." He gestured towards the decomposing body of Jimmy Marsden, still tied to the chair, "Now get rid of that."

Nick turned, scooping the three rings from the nearby table and slipping them onto their designated digits before making a swift exit from the warehouse. He moved through the dark night, expensive shoes crunching on the loose gravel below as he made his way to the sleek, dark car waiting several feet away. He slithered into the driver's seat and let flow a shaky sigh. Nick glanced down at the golden rings adorning his hands and scowled.

"Power and glory..." Sal's voice echoed inside his head, "Right, kiddo?"

When I was growing up, they would say you could become cops or criminals. But what I'm saying is this: When you're facing a loaded gun, what's the difference?

- Frank Costello, The Departed